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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128667">Golden Petals, Milky Stems</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutterbye_5/pseuds/Flutterbye_5'>Flutterbye_5</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Fae Magic, Fae!Jaskier, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Indigenous ways of knowing, Jaskier Character Study, M/M, Post season finale, Pre-Relationship, References to Past Child Abuse, We Accept the Love We Think We Deserve, an exploration of how childhood traumas influence the kind of relationships you accept in adulthood, consent issues but not like sex related consent issues, graphic depictions of a panic attack, healed via psychosomatic trauma work and clear communication, herbalist Jaskier, inhibition spells (specifically spell-induced inhibition loss), insightful but emotionally constipated Geralt, it's not really mentioned but it's a hill I'll die on, it's romantic though love is mentioned, more like verbal diarrhea consent issues, nonbinary Jaskier (headcanon), references to past parental abuse by another parent, this is genuinely not as angsty as the tags all make it sound it's tame I swear, toxic relationships borne from trauma and a lack of communication</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-16 02:53:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,200</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30128667</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flutterbye_5/pseuds/Flutterbye_5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Dandelions had a way of soothing hurts like no other medicine. It’s petals, when harvested gently, lovingly, and dried with care, were invaluable. Dandelion oil, when massaged into skin, eased all aches, seen and unseen alike. Jaskier knew this. Perhaps it is why, then, that it is dandelion oil that begins to ease the hurts between him and Geralt. Dandelion oil that brings them closer than even before the mountain, before bitterness and spite made its home in Jaskier’s heart. </p><p>Or</p><p>Jaskier and Geralt have been on uneven ground since the mountain. Springtime, new growth, and intention is what brings them closer to one another. Perhaps, even close enough to touch.</p><p>A tale told in the stages of making dandelion oil.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>118</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Golden Petals, Milky Stems</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Part of this fic has to do with ideas based in Indigenous ways of knowing, specifically when I talk about ethical harvesting, plant allies, and the way that Jaskier speaks to and about plants. I’m a multiracial Boricua, and Indigenous ways of knowing are a really big part of my life. So it’s something that’s really from the heart. ALSO I headcanon Jaskier as a masculine presenting he/him nonbinary person. It’s not really something that’s explicitly mentioned in this fic, but it’s part of my foundational understanding for his character, so I thought it was important for me to add in the tags. </p><p>Peep the end notes for my dandelion oil recipe, if you want it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Dandelions were healing plants. Not many knew this. They were, though, with their bright petals and milky stems. Jaskier knew this. Every spring, when dandelion blooms worked their way up through the melting ground - cropping up in small families of five, six, seven, then twenty, thirty, forty - Jaskier would wake up early, just before the sun had fully risen, and collect the soft yellow flower tops. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he made his way across the meadow, bending down to listen before gently plucking a fully unfurled bloom from atop its stem, Jaskier heard his mother’s voice, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You must wait, my dear Dandelion, until the flowers are fully bloomed, with no petals still waiting to unfurl. You must ask, and only when given permission may you take.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“But, Mother, how will I know when they say yes?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d smile a knowing smile and say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’ll know. You’ll always know.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bent down to gently caress another bloom. She was right. You always know when the plants are offering their medicine and when they’re not. No’s were always clear, and often gentle. An instinct to pass over to the next plant, a bee bumbling sweetly at the center, a small voice whispering, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not today, my friend.”</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p>
  <span>When they said yes, it was like being welcomed home. Like being offered something gentle and soft from inside of someone’s heart, a gift you’d be hard pressed to ever release. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier loved talking to plants. Harvesting was a joy, but it was convening with them, speaking with them quietly, that was the most fulfilling for him, the most healing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the front of his shirt was full with blossoms, and his fingers sticky and white from the slow trickle of dandelion milk, Jaskier decided it was time to return to camp. Some humans collected until the land was bare, leaving no food for the deer and rabbits, no blossoms to turn to seed so they could spread and settle for the next season. Jaskier was no good at tracking or hunting, but he always knew when the land had been over-harvested. When he spoke to the plants, they begged him to keep going, to hold off on harvesting until their numbers had recovered, until they could heal from human hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It saddened Jaskier when the plants spoke to him like this, desperate and pleading. He shook his head softly and tsked at himself. No more thoughts on the flaws of selfish men. This meadow was full, untouched by the hands of humankind, and the plants here were eager for relationship, eager to be spoken to and worked with. There were no other humans passing through, not here. Geralt had made sure of that, eager to avoid cities and towns that held unfamiliar faces and hostile words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he returned to camp, Geralt was stoking a fire to make breakfast, two small rabbits by his feet, tied together by their hindlegs. Geralt looked up from his post, grunting an acknowledgement before looking away. Jaskier paid him no mind. Despite rising at the break of dawn, Geralt was not a morning person. Sometimes Jaskier asked himself if Geralt was an any time of day kind of person, but that was only when he was in his sourest of moods, when he felt the most hurt by Geralt’s silence and brooding. That was more often than not, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grabbing an old rag from his bag, Jaskier set it out beside the fire, one hand holding up the front of his shirt, still filled with dandelion heads. One by one, Jaskier laid each flower out in neat rows, leaving them to dry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning Geralt,” he greeted brightly, as if Geralt hadn’t risen long before him, and hadn’t seen him leave camp earlier that morning. “What’s for breakfast this morning? Oh, rabbits you say! How wonderful. Do you need help skinning them, or would you rather do it yourself? I’d be happy to provide my service, but if it’s not needed, just say the word.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spoke with a fast pace, not once leaving room for Geralt to respond. Before the mountain, his one sided conversations with Geralt didn’t have this kind of secret bite, this kind of resentment. Before, he was happy to talk enough for the both of them, happy to carry on a conversation himself while Geralt listened quietly. Then, the air had felt comfortable, the energy clean and bright between them, only marred by moments of misunderstanding and always quickly resolved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, the air was heavy between them, the energy stagnant and charged, ready to snap in an instant. Jaskier doesn’t even know why he still traveled by Geralt’s side, why Geralt still allowed him to stay here, traveling with him, pestering him, talking in his ear, singing songs filled with falsehoods and embellishments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lost in his own thoughts, Jaskier didn’t realize that Geralt had, in fact, gone ahead and skinned the rabbits himself. Gutted them too, and trussed them to a makeshift spit over the flames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huffing, Jaskier checked on his flowers, rotating the ones on the edges to sit closer to the flames, moving the most dry heads farther away. If he were lucky, they’d be dry and ready before they packed up camp for the morning. He had thought ahead, eager for dandelion season to start, and in the last town he had bought the finest vial of oil he could find, dark green in color and dense. With this season’s harvest, he’d make the finest batch of dandelion oil yet, almost as good as his mother’s, he was sure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was drawn out of his thoughts again when he felt eyes on him. Peeking up through his lashes, he saw Geralt looking at him from across the flames. He’d been doing that lately. Looking. Staring in ways he never had before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t know what to make of it, how to decipher the looks Geralt sent his way. There was something in his eyes that spoke, that held meaning. But Jaskier realized, unlike what he previously thought, he didn’t know Geralt well enough to read him. Didn’t know the shadows in his eyes, or the set of his mouth. Didn’t know anything. Not really, not at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d think that after twenty years you’d know a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Geralt, if you’re feeling curious, you’re more than welcome to say so. If you ask, I’ll happily chatter away with you. Or are you content with my one-sided ramblings with no input at all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something changed in Geralt then, and Jaskier suddenly regretted being so sharp. Instead of ruining the mood further, Jaskier turned back to his flowers, fiddling with their edges, even though he knew full well that they did best when left alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up to see Geralt suddenly beside him, hesitance in his step like he had never seen before. There was a roast rabbit in his hands, speared on a stick. It was held out to him, ready for Jaskier to take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never been given a full rabbit before. He usually got half, and Jaskier understood. Geralt had more mass, more energy to store and expend. He hunted more, and Jaskier was more of an accessory, like a pet that occasionally needed to be fed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But lately, Geralt had been giving him more. Feeding him more. Slowing down on Roach when Jaskier complained that his feet were sore, stopping for water when he learned Jaskier’s waterskin was empty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, and Jaskier had no idea what to make of it. Just a few moons ago, Jaskier would have thought that Geralt was trying to be nice, trying to extend an olive branch. Now, Jaskier was hesitant to read into anything Geralt did, still hurting and sore from the mountain, still aching over Geralt’s words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But his heart was soft. He hurt, yes. And he was bitter. But he had been speaking with spite more and more often, when he knew that things would change more easily if he gave in. Jaskier knew that Geralt was trying. He thought Geralt was trying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes, trying wasn’t enough. But Jaskier could give a little. He had, in small moments since the mountain. He could make this one of these moments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching out, his fingers brushed Geralt’s and he felt Geralt’s hand twitch. Taking the rabbit from him, Jaskier looked for a moment longer before giving a quiet but genuine, “Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking like he wanted to say something, Geralt grunted instead, turning quickly away to pack up the rest of camp, snuffing the fire and biting furiously into his own meal. Jaskier shrugged, pretending not to care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Traveling felt different, these days. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dandelion oil smelled like honey and chamomile. It’s a rich golden color, and syrupy. When poured over sore muscles and aching limbs, pain was eased nearly immediately. Jaskier remembers his mother’s soft hands rubbing dandelion oil into his childhood hurts, and he, in turn, doing the same on her more adult pains. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pouring oil over his dandelion petals, Jaskier frowned at the memories he couldn’t push away. They were bittersweet; he loved his mother, and loved the secret, shared moments they had together. But he feared his father. Feared his words, his gaze, his hands, his presence. He wished he could remember the moments he had beside his mother while forgetting the rest. The old Viscount lurked in Jaskier’s memories, haunting moments filled with peace or love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Growing up, Jaskier learned that there were people that loved you and people that tolerated you. One person could be either or both in any given circumstance. Over the past twenty years, Geralt had occupied both, in his own special way. He tolerated Jaskier’s chatter, his songs, his complaining. But sometimes, in the smallest of moments, Jaskier would feel Geralt’s love. New lute strings, when coin was low but Jaskier’s spirits were even lower. A warm hand, placed on the nape of his neck after a particularly gruesome hunt. A panicked yell when a creature got dangerously close to hitting it’s mark. Jaskier had felt Geralt’s love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt it, even now, when he was unspeakably furious with the man. But love didn’t soothe all hurts. Sometimes, it exacerbated them, made them smart and burn. Like rubbing salt in a wound. It would be a kindness, Jaskier thought, if Geralt simply showed no love at all. If he simply turned away, cast Jaskier off, and left him to suffer and mourn in peace. But Jaskier could acknowledge that love was just as selfish as it was selfless, and it had the potential to occupy both states at once. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” Geralt snapped, and it pulled Jaskier out of his thoughts and into the present moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resentment flared deep in Jaskier’s chest. He could be spoken to more respectfully, with more care. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” he snapped back, suddenly fed up with whatever was happening. “It’d do you well to -” but he was cut off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get down!” Geralt roared, yanking Jaskier by the collar to the dirt behind the large rock he was kneeling beside. It was tall enough that just the tips of his hair had been peeking through when he’d been kneeling, and as he was pulled aside, Jaskier felt the brush of an arrow against his scalp. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It stung, but no worse than the hot shame and embarrassment filling him for being so reactive. Looking around, Jaskier realized that Geralt was nowhere beside him, and was instead off grunting and fighting what seemed to be a group of bandits, easily managed by Geralt’s sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so caught up in watching the men fight that he hadn’t realized someone was behind him, until he felt a sharp tug at his scalp as a stray bandit dragged him backward by his hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ow - Heathen! Let me -” Jaskier howled, raking his nails uselessly across the leather armor of the bandit’s wrist. He clutched his jar of oil fiercely, unwilling to let it go, even if his other hand could have helped him. “Let me go! Vile beast! Ill-mannered scrote-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was silenced by the hand holding his hair slamming his skull into the ground. Stars burst through his vision, making the world fade in and out in a blurry haze. Suddenly the ringing in his ears drowned out whatever else he could have been listening to, and his fingers loosened, releasing what he had been holding so fiercely to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Idly, Jaskier thought,</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dazed and distracted, can’t you tell? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sun is warm and all is well, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>in my lover’s arms.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Another blow to the head stopped his composure mid thought, and he scolded himself for taking now to think of sonnets and not preserving his own life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier let out a pathetic whimper of pain, low in the middle and pitched high at the end. Closed head wounds were no good, he knew. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ll die from the swelling, if he goes much further</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought mournfully to himself as the bandit lifted his head from the ground again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before his skull could once again be gracelessly smashed against the earth, a bubbling, choking sound came from the bandit’s lips, and Jaskier’s head fell, much more softly than he anticipated, to the ground as his hair was released. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blood dripped on his face, his nose, his lips, as he craned his head backwards to watch the bandit who had previously had hold of him bleed out from the neck. Moving his head to his left as quickly as he could - which was not very fast at all, through the raging pain in his head and neck - he saw Geralt there, bloody and furious, a rage burning in his eyes and blood dripping from his sword. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” he growled, and Jaskier thought, idly, that it was really a wonder how much can be put in a single word and yet nothing much at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier blinked up at Geralt, dizzy and confused, and Geralt growled again, “Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unable to do much of anything, Jaskier kept blinking, fast and then slow, as pain and dizziness, and nausea rolled through him in waves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” he tried to say, and he meant for it to be clear and crisp, but instead it came out as, </span>
  <em>
    <span>grlt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a mumbled, lurching sound. Jaskier felt sick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier could see the rage slipping from Geralt’s eyes, turning into what - if he hadn’t known better - looked like concern. Somehow, things began to feel worse, and for reasons beyond him, it had nothing to do with any change in his physical state. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dnt wry, drlng,” he mumbled dizzily, “nthng ‘t wry bt. Smply a blw ‘ta th hd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel Geralt staring at him, desperation and concern mixing with irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Quite,” he said dryly, worry clearly looking like it was gnawing at his innards. Kneeling down, he moved as if to lift Jaskier from the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bit back a groan of pain as he was lifted against Geralt’s chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things felt even fuzzier, after that. Then they went black. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he came to, he was bundled in a bedroll, sweating beside a fire. The world was spinning, and the popping and hissing of the burning wood made his raging headache pound uncomfortably behind his eyes. Trying to lift his head, Jaskier genuinely found that he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pain drilling into his head spread, began reaching down the back of his neck and into his spine. Jaskier let out a pathetic whimper of pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <span>You’re awake,” he heard from his left. Glancing over with his eyes, Jaskier saw Geralt coming to crouch beside his bedroll. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was strange, seeing what seemed to be open concern on Geralt’s face. His brow was furrowed and his mouth set in a hard frown. Jaskier wondered how serious his injuries must have been to make Geralt level him with such a look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening his mouth, Jaskier tried to speak but found his throat dry and raw, nothing but an aching, painful rasp escaping him. Geralt handed him a waterskin, leaning over to hold him by the head and lift his lips to the opening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The movement caused a sharp, ripping pain to course through his neck, and his vision swam. It receded to a dull, haunting ache as Geralt stabilized his neck, a calloused thumb pressing just beneath his ear. Grateful for the water, he began to drink, swallowing through the pain and finding relief in the cool flow of water down his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Careful,” Geralt warned. “Drink too much and you’ll wretch.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Heeding his advice, Jaskier stopped his exuberant gulping just as he felt the beginnings of an uncomfortable slosh in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt lowered his head back down to the bedroll, and the movement caused him to wince again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hurts,” he whimpered, reaching to clutch at Geralt’s retreating wrist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grimacing sympathetically, Geralt pulled his wrist from Jaskier’s grasp. Jaskier’s heart was in his throat when Geralt finally spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Head’s fucked,” is what he grunted, and if Jaskier hadn’t been in so much pain, he’d have laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah yes,” he snorted, “Brilliant deductions from brilliant men. Genius comes in flashes, I hear.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glaring, Geralt said, “Even less often, for some.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sputtered, arms flailing out to smack at Geralt’s thigh indignantly. His momentary indignation melted in moments, though, and a laugh startled its way out of his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hurt; an incredible amount, if he were being honest. But he couldn’t stop laughing. He knew Geralt was looking at him as if he’d gone mad, but laughter kept bursting from him, sharp and gasping and genuine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d missed laughing with Geralt. Contrary to what many thought, Geralt was an incredibly witty man; thoughtful and sharp when he thought others weren’t paying attention. Before the mountain, it was commonplace to hear barks of laughter from Jaskier whenever Geralt made quips, public and private alike. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s retort was less funny than what Jaskier’s laugher implied, but there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>relief</span>
  </em>
  <span> in it, and it was the sensation of lightness, the slow creep of hysteria, that propelled it up and out of him. The reality of it was that Jaskier missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he’d never thought about it like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Gods,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he missed Geralt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier knew intimately what it was to miss someone that was still beside you. He’d missed his mother, when she’d seem to disappear right in front of him, missed her when his father stole her from him. Missed her when she laid in bed for days on end, and missed her when she sat beside him at the dinner table, quiet and placid as his father raged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hadn’t thought about how much he missed her, then. He had just known that he did. It seemed that missing Geralt was much the same. But Jaskier didn’t miss his mother like he missed Geralt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had missed his mother like a child missed a comfort toy, or how those in the dead of winter missed the summer heat. He’d missed her like an ache in his chest, consistent but dull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier missed Geralt the way you miss the things that hurt you. Sharp and grating, Jaskier missed Geralt like a mouse missed the consistency of the chase, the way warriors missed war. It had been hard, but it had been fulfilling. It had hurt, but sometimes the pain felt good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Jaskier missed Geralt in the way you were supposed to miss the things you left behind. Was he ready to leave Geralt behind? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Choking, Jaskier’s laughter suddenly turned to gasping sobs, shaking and ragged. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Was </span>
  </em>
  <span>he ready to leave Geralt behind? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hands reached out to grasp him by the shoulders, large and warm and firm. Jaskier was lost in a dizzy haze of crushing emotion and overwhelming pain, and he could only vaguely process that it was Geralt attempting to hold him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t know how to hold him. It was obvious in the curve of his back, in the way his hands stood too still, that he was uncomfortable. Jaskier wished desperately that he could pull away, that he could bring himself to wretch his body from Geralt’s arms and find a place far away from where he was. But he couldn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he could do was shake and rattle with the gasps escaping him, panicked and dizzying in their ferocity. It felt like there wasn’t enough air getting to his head. Black spots blinked across his vision, fuzzy and somehow bright in the middle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, bard, damn it!” Geralt barked, wrenching Jaskier up to his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier thought he might shake him, but instead his forehead came to Geralt’s shoulder with a quiet </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel Geralt breathing, slow and steady, could feel the palm of Geralt’s hand against his back, and Jaskier took a final, gasping breath. He tried to match his breathing to Geralt’s, and it felt too slow. Like walking when all he wanted to do was run. But eventually, with every in and out, the black spots faded and Jaskier slumped further into Geralt’s hold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t say anything, and Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to, either. He wondered what Geralt was thinking, if he were wondering what was wrong with him, or thinking about how annoyingly fragile Jaskier was, or how this was more than he signed up for, or if this was just another pile of </span>
  <em>
    <span>shit </span>
  </em>
  <span>for him to shovel, or - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breathe, Bard,” Geralt said again, except this time it felt softer, quiet and warm. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever heard Geralt sound like that. It hurt, but in a way Jaskier wasn’t used to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt loosened his hold, and Jaskier took the hint. Extracting himself from his arms, Jaskier felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He fell more than placed himself back on the bedroll. Everything hurt, and Jaskier wondered if he’d be able to sleep with the pain tearing through his head and neck, despite his exhaustion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here,” Geralt grunted, bringing a vial to Jaskier’s lips. “This will help with the pain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier drank it down greedily, until the taste finally hit his tongue. He choked for a moment on the vile acridity, until he was able to force himself to swallow it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The world became fuzzy after that, Geralt’s face above him turning soft around the edges. Jaskier sighed deeply, feeling the pain leave him, and finally, blissfully, he began to feel sleep come for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before his eyes could close completely, he let his head fall to the side and said, “Don’t want to have to leave you behind. Wish I could keep you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He heard a confused grunt somewhere above him, but he was pulled under before Geralt could even think to ask. </span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>They didn’t talk much after that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier wished he could say it was all him, that he was the one piloting this bout of the silent treatment. He wasn’t, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken time, but once his head had begun to heal, they’d packed up camp and started their trek once more. His neck still hurt, with any sudden turn of his head sending a tearing pain down his spine and into his shoulders. It slowed them down, the way he had to rise carefully in the morning and walk stiffly to prevent any sort of jostling. Geralt didn’t say a word about it. Jaskier could feel the impatience in the air, though, could taste it on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things felt as if they were coming to a natural end, and one morning Jaskier woke up and knew that the next town they came to was where they’d part ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier and Geralt had left each other’s company frequently over the past twenty years, for varying amounts of time. At times, it'd be for no more than two or three weeks, while others it’d be for months at a time. One memorable separation was ten years ago, when they’d gone their separate ways for nearly a year before coming together again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This felt different, though, and Jaskier had the feeling that if he left Geralt now, he’d never come back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know what to do with that. It wasn’t that he hated Geralt. Quite the opposite, in fact. But Jaskier knew that they couldn’t go on like this. Quiet, hurt, but desperate for each other’s company. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt must have come to the same conclusion, because that very same morning he took his time making sure his and Jaskier’s belongings were packed separately. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That hurt, even though Jaskier had been planning on doing the same thing. Maybe it was because, over the years, Geralt had almost always been the one to leave first. Rarely had it been Jaskier that made the final decision. He wished, just this once, that he could be the one to finish what they started. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That night, Jaskier watched Geralt from across the fire. They were coming up on a town, soon. The map said it was just fifteen miles east, and Jaskier knew they’d reach it by mid afternoon tomorrow, if they went fast and took few breaks.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d passed through a strange glen early in the day; one with hills that swept down gracefully into a shallow basin cut by a creek. Something had felt off about it, like a charge in the air. It made the hair on his arms stand on end, but he’d resolutely ignored it. Fae magic was strange, and Jaskier knew if he acknowledged it too much, he’d be inviting something out that he’d rather leave hidden. Geralt had touched his medallion furtively, but they hadn’t spoken about it. They had paused briefly to rest, but Jaskier had been restless and eager to leave the glen. He may have been thankful for the small amount of fae blood keeping him youthful, but that didn’t mean he wanted to have a run in with them. He’d urged Geralt to hurry as he filled their waterskin, and it’d been the first words spoken between them since packing camp that morning. They’d left not long after that, Jaskier ignoring the soreness in his neck in favor of picking up his pace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d pitched camp five miles east of that glen, and Jaskier still felt the buzz of magic on his skin, could still taste the snap of it on his tongue. He drank from the waterskin, trying to wash the taste away. The tilt of his chin made him cringe, aggravating his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still in pain?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Geralt’s voice shocked him, and he choked on the water in his mouth. Geralt stood at the sound of his cut off gasp, coming around the fire to thump him on the back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright?” he grunted, and if Jaskier hadn’t been busy choking and gasping from water in his lungs he’d have looked as confused as he felt.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sputtered for a few moments longer before he choked out, “Fine. I’m -“ he suppressed a cough. “Fine!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt regarded him carefully before releasing his shoulder and returning to his spot across the flames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was strange. Geralt had never been one to reach out for physical contact if he wasn’t starting a fight he intended to finish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you exist to punish me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t meant to say that. Why did he say that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The monosyllabic grunt caused resentment to flare deep in Jaskier’s chest, and he couldn’t stop himself from snapping, “You exist to punish me. You must. I had to have committed some unforgivable sin to have to be punished like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt snorted, which wouldn’t have been overly strange, except Jaskier hadn’t heard him do it once in the weeks since the mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I was put on this earth to punish you. I serve no other purpose than to piss you off and send you into a strop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sputtered indignantly, shooting to his feet. Something wasn’t right, but the sheer force of </span>
  <em>
    <span>feeling </span>
  </em>
  <span>coursing through him shoved the feeling away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“St-“ he sputtered, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>strop? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Fuck you, Geralt. Genuinely. Fuck you. You ass of a man.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt didn’t respond, which only served to make Jaskier even more furious. All the feelings that had been in him these past few weeks seemed to come bubbling up and pouring out of him, an unstoppable force. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I spend twenty goddamn years by your side, tolerating every ill-mannered behavior under the sun, and when I’m genuinely furious with you, I’m in a </span>
  <em>
    <span>strop</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You think </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>shoveling </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>shit? Think again, you bastard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They sat in silence for a moment, the words settling between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have said that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up sharply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I shouldn’t have said that. It. Wasn’t fair,” he said haltingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caught between relief, shock, and rage, Jaskier was left speechless. Geralt seemed to wrestle with himself before continuing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It wasn’t right. You -” he seemed to be biting back words, but some unseen force was choking them out of him, “You are not the source of my struggles. It was - was cruel. To say those things to you. And untrue. I was the root of my struggles with Yennefer. It was me not -- not you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier very suddenly realized what was wrong, why this was all happening. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt,” the name bursting out of him as if it were alive, “the glen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked at him strangely, gesturing for him to get on with whatever he was going to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Swallowing, he said, “The glen. The fae were there and -- and --” he cut himself off, looking sharply to the waterskin by his feet. “Fuck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my word,” and if the situation hadn’t felt so absolutely miserable, Jaskier would have laughed at the joke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We drank the water from the glen, Geralt. And now, I believe we are,” he hesitated, but the words were pulled from him, regardless of how little he wanted to say them, “compelled to share truths.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other from across the flames, and dread settled in the pit of his stomach. Geralt looked tense, and Jaskier knew it could only get worse. The fae were tricky, bestowing “gifts” that were really curses, speaking half-truths and omitting details; they, well, they were much like Jaskier, if he were to be honest with himself. He enjoyed a good trick, every once in a while, and liked to manipulate situations with his charm and other’s perceptions of him. Very suddenly, Jaskier knew this to be true about himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had another sharp, sudden realization. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not quite it. It is less that,” he tripped over his words in an effort to simultaneously hold them back and let them out, “that we must share truths and more that we are compelled to say what we need to say. To say what is, is in our hearts.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt growled sharply, and Jaskier jumped. He hadn’t been this fearful of Geralt’s reaction to something in decades, but this? To take what is in Geralt’s heart and leave it for the world to see? The last time a creature compelled Geralt to share his heart, Yennefer happened and, by default, caused the chasm in their relationship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does that mean?” His voice was sharp, and Jaskier swallowed around a lump in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If -- If there were no rules, no societal mores, no pressures, or, or fear, then we would simply,” Jaskier took a moment to breathe, “We would simply say the things we felt to be true; would speak what we felt, regardless of consequences. It may not take the fear away, but it -- it takes away our ability to hold back because of fear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Witchers -” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel just as truly and deeply as the rest of us lowly creatures,” Jaskier cut him off gently. “What do you think compelled you to make that wish, Geralt? Was it not fear that led you to tethering Yennefer to you? Was it not fear that kept you from telling her? Fear is not simply the urge to run from beasts. That, I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt regarded him quietly. They sat in silence, neither seeming to feel compelled to speak anymore. Perhaps the urge to share was waning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fear of people and fear of beasts are a world from one another.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A beast simply wants to ream you through until your guts are strewn about their nests. People? They’re fickle. They need you but they don’t want you. They say one thing but mean another. They get close and then knife you through the ribs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier didn’t have much to say to that. Not in a way that would offer Geralt any comfort. They sat in silence, until Jaksier could no longer hold back the words in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why did you say what you did?” Jaskier asked quietly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t look at Geralt. Couldn’t even think about what might be going through his head. All he could do was hold his breath and wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What felt like an eternity passed before Geralt finally spoke, “I was angry. Beyond angry. And it was easier to be furious with you than it was to be furious with myself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier released a heavy breath. It didn’t feel as satisfying as he’d imagined it’d be. It felt kind of hollow, actually. He was expecting so much more relief than he was feeling, had thought that if he just knew </span>
  <em>
    <span>why,</span>
  </em>
  <span> then everything would be better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything was still the same, though, and Jaskier was still hurt and angry and fed up. Nothing had changed. He opened his mouth to say so, but Geralt kept talking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s something I’ve always done, isn’t it? You have been by my side for twenty years, and the more I tried to chase you away, the closer you stuck. I took advantage of that; treated you like shit because I thought nothing could make you go away. I assumed you’d be a constant and how fucked up is that?” He sighed so hard it seemed to shake out of him. “I took your insistence of sticking by my side to mean that I could disregard you in favor of myself and that’s fucked up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt-“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Jaskier, let me finish. Just because you had your own shit that caused you to stay by me even when I was unbearable to anyone else didn’t mean that you deserved the way I spoke to or treated you. A better man would have treated you with respect even if you didn’t think you deserved it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence between them seemed to stretch for miles as Jaskier parsed out the knot of emotion in his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Geralt, but that doesn’t change the fact that I feel like absolute shit and have for weeks. Longer than, if I’m being honest. I have spent my whole life chasing after people. The one person that finally gave in and let me stay at least some of the time ended up being one of the people that fucked me over the hardest. And it’s not fair. Not in the least.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt let out a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You misinterpret me, Bard,” he growled. Taking a deep breath, he reached into a buckskin bag beside him, pulling out something Jaskier couldn’t see. A vial, he thought. He began to roll it between his hands, back and forth in a mesmerising motion. “I will not beg for your forgiveness by attempting to justify my bullshit. I am telling the truth. Explaining my perspective does nothing to imply that I should be forgiven for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucked his teeth tartly. Geralt was right, of course. He had asked why Geralt had done what he did, and Geralt was answering. There was no plea for forgiveness, no excuses on his tongue. Jaskier had to remind himself that Geralt was not his father. It felt like it, sometimes, when the silences were long or words sharp. But Geralt was no more the late Viscount of Lettenhove than Jaskier was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Breathing through his nose, Jaskier nodded, offering no other words. They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the crackling of the fire and the wind in the trees. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you wanted to leave, I’d understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked up to see Geralt frowning into the fire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should leave. In the next town. You deserve to have people that show you the care and concern you deserve. You should leave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A million thoughts and feelings raged inside Jaskier’s head at that. Rejection. Fear. Resentment. Anger. Grief. Then, suddenly, understanding. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want me to leave, or is this your way of cutting your own losses in case I decide to leave anyway?” Suddenly his understanding was mixed with rage. “How much of your shit is you being too scared to hope that people may want to be beside you? That they may love you? Do you fear that they will leave you when you don’t see it coming? Do you fear being surprised by loss? Do you -“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough!” Geralt roared, and new fear suddenly outweighed the rage that had set Jaskier on his rant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tumbled back from the stump he sat on, his jump of anticipation jolting him backward until he was on the ground, head pounding, feeling like a wild animal trying desperately to get away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The panic slowly ebbed into shame when he realized that his body had betrayed him. A grown man did not jump from the raised voice of another. Geralt was not his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was not his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” he heard Geralt mutter, but he was too busy trying to calm the tremble of his limbs to fully register the word. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt is not my father. Geralt is not my father. Geralt is not my father.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He whispered it to himself, over and over again, with fists clenched and eyes tightly shut. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hand suddenly came down on his shoulder and he jumped, eyes frantically flicking to the eyes above him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a look on his face, like he suddenly saw all that was true and sad and hurt in the world, and had only just realized that he played a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forcing yourself away from one feeling and into another simply makes the one you hide from take deeper root,” he said quietly. His hand fell from Jaskier’s shoulder. “Your mind may know one thing. But when you see the similarities, it is nearly impossible to feel what your mind knows to be true.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wearily, Geralt stood from his crouch beside Jaskier. He hesitated before offering a hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier took it, slowly, warily, as if he weren’t quite sure it was real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt sighed through his nose and pulled Jaskier up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were right.” The admission felt more resigned than painful to Jaskier. “There are many things I do out of fear. And I think that is true for you, too. We -“ he paused, cutting himself off and swallowing thickly, “I have the thought that there may be a lot of things we fear in each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They looked at each other, hands still touching as they stood nearly nose to nose. The glow of the crackling flames illuminated their faces, casted shadows softening their features. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jasker admitted quietly, his eyes glued to the point where their hands met. Geralt’s hands were warm, his calloused fingers brushing the soft palm of Jaskier’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Geralt said softly, pausing for a moment before continuing, “Perhaps those fears are not simply truths we must accept and are instead things we can address.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier had never heard Geralt speak so gently, nor suggest something so collaborative, or so thoughtful. He had always kept his musings to himself, never seeking advice or support. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiled softly, the last of any anger or resentment in him giving way to hope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” he laughed quietly, “this is the first step.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had never thought to be honest with Geralt. Honesty garnered punishment, in his experience. Geralt had likely learned the same thing. But perhaps this honesty could make way for trust; through twenty years together they had learned many things about trusting each other. But did Jaskier trust Geralt? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In some ways. Not in others. But Jaskier was beginning to think that was okay. He could learn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have something of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt’s voice pulled Jaskier out of his thoughts. Looking up from their joined hands he met Geralt’s steady gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked sheepish, and the look served as a reminder that they were not fully themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Disconnecting their hands, Geralt reached into the pocket of his trousers, pulling out the vial he’d been fiddling with earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Delight overcame Jaskier’s confusion when he looked at the bottle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was his dandelion oil, safe and still infusing. Jaskier let out a small, joyous chuckle, reaching out for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The vial,” he said softly, cradling it between his palms. “Where’d you find this?” he asked, looking up to meet Geralt’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looked away, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. He gave a half shrug and said, “You dropped it when you were attacked. I figured it must be important if you clung to it so fiercely.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looked between Geralt and the vial, feeling something indefinable in his chest. The oil needed straining. Left too long and the flowers would begin to rot. They weren’t fully dry when he infused them, but if you took them out just in time it didn’t make much difference. He bit his lip, then settled his gaze firmly on Geralt’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Will you --” he cleared his throat, “Would you like to help me strain this? Come morning?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The invitation was clear, at least to Jaskier. This had been the most they’d spoken to each other in weeks, but the knowledge that the willingness to be honest was artificial gnawed at him. Come morning, when the fae’s water had worn off, would Geralt want to be this honest with him? Would he be willing to unpack their fears together? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt was silent for a breath, and then two, and then three, and Jaskier’s hopeful smile began to dim. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, “I don’t know how. You’d have to show me.” Geralt shifted uneasily. “I’m not like this. When I become myself, when I am quiet and sullen, what will you make of me then? I cannot change myself over night. Some things may never change.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching out, Jaskier took Geralt’s hand. They’d never touched like this before. Jaskier hummed thoughtfully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither can I. Change so quickly, that is.” Biting his lip he said, “I’m still angry. And hurt. For a lot of things I thought I had moved on from. But if we do as you say, if we address our fears, perhaps we can mitigate them. Perhaps, we could dare hope that we can be better. I know there are things you don’t like to talk about. Things I didn’t want to listen to, that I was scared of. Could we work on sharing those things, together? At our own pace?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt squeezed his fingers. He had locked his eyes on them, much like Jaskier had done before, and Jaskier wondered when the last time someone touched Geralt like this was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think we can.” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dandelion Oil:</p><p>- Dandelion heads, fresh* or dried<br/>- half and half coconut and olive oil</p><p>Directions: Fill a glass jar with your dandelion heads and pour the oil mixture over it until the petals are completely submerged. There should be a little extra oil over top, but not much. Cover and let sit for 10-11 days, shaking once a day. I usually just leave it out so I can see it and remember to shake it. Strain and enjoy your dandelion oil. Make sure you store it in a clean, sterilized (as best you can) dropper bottle so it keeps. Enjoy! </p><p>* If you're picking fresh remember the beginning of the fic and genuinely connect with the plants. Make sure they're growing in abundance and not by anywhere polluted or treated with pesticides. Set out on a tea towel to dry a little for a few hours after washing them. They don't need to be perfectly dry, but you want any dew or moisture from washing to be gone.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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